


Uninvited Guest

by ProblemWithTrouble



Series: POI [8]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Oblivious, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblemWithTrouble/pseuds/ProblemWithTrouble
Summary: A person isn't destined to be with one person. Most people have multiple soul mates, a person who you literally share a part of your brain with. A person you are connected forever, even when the connection fades.Harold has been on suppressants for years, to hide himself from Grace. For some reason they don't seem to be working as well these days.John didn't think he'd ever be connected to someone again after Jessica, but something strange was happening. It wasn't like it had been before, but something was changing.





	1. Bonds of Yesterday

When John was found the dead spot in the center of his head where Jessica’s voice had lived ached every second of every day. The silence of it was almost deafening and the pain throbbed until it was difficult to think. It was even worse than the sound of her garbled and muffed thoughts that had managed to get through the suppressants the CIA had forced on him. 

They had never registered as Bound. If they had he would have been put on suppressants the minute that he was in boot camp. Instead, her voice had held him during his tours, late at night, reaching to him and he reached back. A brush of their minds whenever they could, confirming that they were both safe. 

They were planning to register when they got back from Mexico since he was so close to being out, but that had never happened.   
The Company had known the score, though. He wasn’t even halfway through training when Snow had tossed a bottle of pills at him and said they would know if he didn’t take them. He believed them. 

He had been assured the dead space would never be gone completely by Joan who had had two more Bonds after her first had died in a car crash. Two years after being found the dead spot in his mind was smaller, never replaced. There was a part that was still cold and immovable and throbbed when he missed her, but there was another part that was just hollow. Like he could shout into it and never hear anything back. 

He had suspicions as to why, sure, even if he couldn’t confirm them. Going to a Bond specialist wasn’t exactly possible. He had come up with two possibilities. One, his mind was healing and making room for someone new. The problem with that theory was that his mind had never felt like that before his Bond with Jess. Two, that he had somehow Bonded to someone else who was on the suppressants. The problem with that theory was obvious.

When he could afford to be distracted, sitting on the couch in the library and playing fetch with Bear, he would prod at the blank spot in his mind and pressed to see if he could find something more. There had to be a third option that he hadn’t seen yet. 

He had heard of platonic soul mates but that seemed like a stretch especially since there was no spark or change when he saw Carter or Fusco. With Finch it was different, but he chalked that up to their close friendship and the spark of attraction that John had been nursing since Finch had torn through New York City streets to rescue him from a parking garage that John had told him to stay away from. 

He thought about asking Tillman to prescribe him some suppressants just in case, she wouldn’t have asked questions. The last thing he needed was unknown quantities worming their way into his mind and finding Finch.

In the end, he decided that Finch deserved him at his sharpest and the civilian pills always dulled your senses. Sure, if he could get a hold of the agency ones he’d be set but he didn’t think Finch would appreciate the amphetamines that those pills were laced with.

* * *

When Harold brought John in, he had already been on bond suppressants for years. Ever since he had faked his death and Grace needed to think he was dead. The first few months he still felt the grief pouring out from her mind to his, muffled and distant. Some days he was tempted to ignore the orange plastic bottle on his counter just to see what she was up to, but he knew the risk was too great. Before he could get a clear thought from her the suppressants would have to completely wear off, and she would have known he was alive long before that happened. 

As time had gone on her part of his mind quieted and he assumed that she was finding closure, healing from the wound that he had inflicted upon her. She didn’t date again as far as he could tell but that part of his mind was quiet for a long time. 

When he started to feel the inkling of it again he wondered if his meds were losing their strength, even though there were studies to suggest that the longer someone was on the medication the harder it was for them to feel the Bond, or create new ones. But there was no denying that in times of stress, especially those that put him at risk there was something in his mind that was protesting, or worrying, or feeling any range of emotions. 

Still, his options were limited. He couldn’t switch brands, the one he had chosen was one of only two that didn’t interact poorly with his other medications and they couldn’t be switched between one day to the next. He would have to wean off of one before he could start the next and that was too much of a risk. Grace would know for sure. 

He tried meditating and focusing on breaking away from the Bond, some people suggested that you could sever a Bond without any medication. It didn’t help. If anything, it only got worse and there was nothing to suggest why except for a Hallmark movie about two people who Bonded despite both being on blockers because the Christmas spirit was just that strong. He didn’t that was the case since he had never once celebrated Christmas.


	2. It's Always the Husband

The number was going well. Or as well as a number with almost no leads, or information, or obvious motive could. Which Finch supposed was not well. The number had come in early that morning for a man that appeared to have been in a very happy marriage, with a new art exhibit opening in a few days and more than ample money in his savings account. Whatever secrets the man hid, he hid them well, at least if they were the kind of secrets that led to someone wanting him dead. 

There were no gambling debts to be found, no medical bills were piling up, there were no jilted lovers or infidelity that Finch could find at all. It had been a very frustrating day for both him and John. 

John had followed him back and forth from the gallery to his apartment three times. He watched him have lunch with his husband and hold hands across the table. No vague texts or phone calls were coming in. Finch had already started to think that they might have been in for a longer job than their usual fare. 

The past few numbers had been quick, two days at most, but there was almost always a hint of a problem as soon as Finch scrolled through some financials or recent search history. And if there wasn’t, John would find something within the first few hours of following them with a paired phone. Finch supposed they could probably due with the reminder that their job wasn’t an easy one, and sometimes people didn’t wear their problems on their sleeves. 

Finch had found a second account at a separate bank that the husband of the number had by himself and was hoping to find something of note in that while John was following the number to the coffee shop for the third time. 

“I don’t think this guy’s the threat, Finch,” John said. “Unless it’s to himself for caffeine intake.”

Usually, just the sound of John’s voice over the line was enough to bring Finch’s attention back to the street cameras so that he could check that John wasn’t having any more problems. But he was distracted, there was no other way to put it. His mind had decided to give up the ability to multitask in favor of giving John a slightly interested hum with his eyes still firming on the screen trying to get into the bank systems. 

Not a second later a hiss came from John and that had Finch’s attention. “What’s going on?” He clicked through the camera feeds but couldn’t find John or the number anywhere. 

John grunted and there were more sounds that Finch had learned meant that John was busy fighting someone who could give him a challenge. A fight with a normal civilian would be quick with a little noise from John and a lot from the person he was fighting. Right then all Finch could hear was the sound of fabric moving, John’s breathing, and the sound of a body hitting a hard surface every few seconds. Panic gripped him as he held the armrests with white knuckles and he hoped that John would be okay.

The fighting continued for long drawn out second until there was a grunt from someone else, sounding less deep, maybe a woman, and then the sound of John catching his breath without having to fight for the opportunity. “Mr. Reese?” 

“Camera blind spot,” Reese said. “I think I just met our threat. And she’s a pro.”

“Are you hurt?” Finch asked. 

“Yeah, but so is she. I don’t think she can make a move on him right now. And I don’t think that was her plan anyway. I’m headed to you,” Reese said, quickly catching his breath. 

Finch took a deep breath to steady himself again. “Very well.” 

Reese disconnected the line and Finch took a few more seconds to compose himself before he got up to find the first aid kit. Once it had been set out and he had grabbed a bottle of water for Reese as well, he sat down again to see if he could find footage of the person who had attacked him. 

Once he had found John on the footage it didn’t take long to see that he had been being followed himself for almost two blocks before the blonde had pulled him into the ally where they must have fought. Two minutes of watching people pass by the ally with barely a sideways glance she emerged with her hair falling out of its bun on her head and limping slightly. 

Bear heard Reese first and ran to greet him, whining a little which concerned Finch more than the way that John had been holding his wrist when he had left the ally. Bear rarely whined for anything that wasn’t blood. Sure enough, when John walked in there was blood on his shirt cuff and he was grimacing. “You do care,” Reese said as he sat on the couch next to where Finch had laid the open first aid kit and water bottle. 

“Of course I care. Are you alright?” Finch asked, resisting the urge to go around the desk since John seemed more than capable to handle this particular injury. 

“She caught me with a knife. It’s just going to bleed a lot, nothing a bandage and a butterfly stitch can’t fix. I’m getting spoiled to even want that,” Reese said with a smile to Finch that only made Finch’s heart skip a little. And it was only the fact the smile had been paired with Reese rolling up his sleeves that Finch reacted at all. A smile was not enough to make Finch react in such a juvenile way. 

“Yes, Mr. Reese, how selfish of you to not wish to continue bleeding on the floor.” Finch looked back to his computer that was running facial recognition software on the woman, but it was still running. 

“Knew it was really about keeping the floors clean,” Reese said as he cleaned the wound. There was a lot of humor in his voice for someone who was actively bleeding. Finch wasn’t sure that was something that’d he’d ever get used to about Reese. 

The computer had finally finished its search through the databases and had found a match. “Juliet Lambert is the woman you had a run-in with. A few assaults and robberies on her record, but nothing on her in recent years,” Finch said as he started to dig further into her history to try and find some clue as to who she was and who could have hired her. 

Reese came around the desk and leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen. “Now we just need to find out who hired her and get them to call it off.”

“I have an idea of who that might be,” Finch said and pulled the window to continue his attempt at cracking into the bank and in under five minutes, with Reese watching over his shoulder silently, Finch was able to crack it. 

“Looks like they’ve been saving their money for just such an occasion,” Reese said. The statement had a series of deposits – some cash, some payroll – that extended back years, amassing twenty thousand dollars. Nine thousand of which had been transferred to a Cayman Islands account. Reese turned to Finch; his face so close that Finch didn’t dare turn his head in case they touched. “It’s always the husband.”


	3. Early Bird

Once John had gotten himself sufficiently stitched up he set back out into the night to the number’s apartment. The husband had gotten on a plane to Chicago that afternoon and by all accounts, the number would be home alone all night. Or he would be until his assassin appeared to kill him. Then he’d be having both her and John over. 

John situated himself outside the doors to the building in the shadow of an ally between a closed bookshop and a bar that was just a touch too lively to hide out in.

“He’s ordered dinner to be delivered. It should be arriving shortly,” Finch told him. 

“Why do people always make it so easy?” Reese asked. 

“I doubt he thinks he’s likely to be murdered by the food delivery person,” Finch countered. 

“That’s what makes it so easy. And why our new friend is using the same thing,” Reese said. Across the street, a person with a blonde ponytail sticking out from under a bike helmet got off a moped with a plastic bag of styrofoam boxes. Reese sprinted across the street as they were buzzed into the building. A car had to stop short to avoid hitting him and the driver honked at him drawing Lambert’s attention. She turned around and recognized him then gave him a smile as she pulled the door shut behind her. 

Inside someone got off the elevator, held the door for her, and then opened the front door for Reese. “Thanks,” he said and then took off sprinting up the stairs. “Can you stall the elevator?”

“Not fast enough to stop her from getting to the fourth floor.” Finch was typing quickly in his ear and hopefully, he’d find something fast because John could run up the four floors but to then fight someone with training wasn’t going to be easy. 

Reese burst onto the fourth floor as the number’s door opened and Lambert was pulling a gun out of the bag. He fired two shots at her that she dodged by forcing herself into the apartment. He was close enough behind that his entry into the apartment was enough to distract her from killing the very frightening number that was now running to lock himself in the bathroom. 

Reese and Lambert had their guns trained on each other from across the kitchen island. “Listen, I don’t care if this guy lives or dies, and I don’t care what the Company’s interest is I just want to get paid. So for twenty thousand dollars I’ll leave and never come back for this terribly boring man again,” she said with a deep southern accent. “Deal?”

“So you can go kill other people? That’s not really what we’re going for,” Reese said. 

“Oh come on. Since when does the Company care about every little life? Not all the people I go after can matter to you lot. And we’ve all got bills to pay.” She genuinely seemed irritated to be having this conversation. 

“Detective Carter is on her way with a SWAT team not far behind,” Finch said. 

The slight set of her jaw was the only warning John got before she set off two shots and he had to dive behind the counter. The bullets hit the wall as he skirted around the edge of the island and lunged at her legs, knocking her off balance and to the floor with him.

Her gun went off once more before sliding out of her hands and under the couch. Her knife caught the edge of his jacket but didn’t manage to hit him as he pulled back enough to dodge. The change in leverage was all she needed to slip out from under him and then lunge at him again with the knife, catching the edge of his shoulder this time. 

He grunted at the hot pain and ignored the concerned hiss that Finch gave on the other end of the line to focus on knocking the legs out from under Lambert again. Once they were on the floor, he was able to find the leverage to aim his elbow at the side of her head and knocked her unconscious. It’d only last for a few seconds, a minute at most, but for the moment he was able to zip tie her hands together and to the TV stand. 

It wasn’t a permanent solution or even a very good temporary one. “How far out is Carter?”

“About a minute.”

Well, it should hold that long. He left her gun under the couch but took the knife, so she couldn’t try to cut herself free. “I left her a present in the living room,” John said as he shut the front door behind him and took the stairs down to the ground floor. He was out the door and half a block down when Carter pulled up, lights and sirens loud. 

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased,” Finch said and there might have been a bit of a smile in his tone. John liked to think there was. 

It was late and if there was another number Finch would have told him but he found his feet carrying him to the library anyway. It wasn’t an uncommon instinct and sometimes he felt a bit like a homing pigeon with how often he went to where Finch was for no reason. It made him feel a little bit better to be around Finch and in the safety of the Library and while John did deny himself most things that brought him pleasure, this wasn’t going to be one of them. Not when he could convince himself that it was really about being there just in case a new number came in. 

When he arrived, Finch was compiling a file for Carter to use against Lambert. “You know we’ll have a new number before long, Mr. Reese. You should be getting some rest,” Finch said with barely a look up from his work. 

Reese nodded. “Call me if something comes up.”

“Of course.”

* * *

John woke up the next morning with an urge to go to the library. It was stronger than just the desire to get to work he loved but there was no bad feeling in the pit of his stomach so he didn’t hurry much more than usual. He skipped his morning run and he’d showered before bed so he was able to arrive at the library almost an hour earlier than usual with tea and coffee in hand. 

Finch seemed to have just arrived when he got there, his computers not on yet as he came into the room with three books. “You’re early today,” Finch noted as he picked up the paper cup of tea and took a sip. 

“Early bird gets the worm,” Reese said with a small smile. 

Finch raised an eyebrow to let Reese know he had seen the joke and did not find it as amusing as Reese did. He sat down and booted up the computer. 

While Finch worked on discovering who the number was John played fetch with Bear and ran him through a few commands just to make sure that his training was still good. Bear, of course, was perfect though a little sad every time he had to give up the ball. By the time the ball was so covered in slobber that John didn’t want to play anymore, Bear was running just a touch slower and Finch was walking back and forth taping papers to the board. 

When Reese reentered the room Finch turned to him, grimacing a little. “His name is Christopher Wuster. He is the assistant manager at a Starbucks in midtown. He has two roommates and quite a lot of student loan debt. His degree was in chemistry but never seemed able to find a job to put his knowledge to use,” Finch explained, pointing to a man that was somewhere in his early thirties. “If the sudden drop off in debit and credit card purchases is any indication I would suspect he’s started to pay in cash for his day to day items.”

“New all cash income stream for a chemistry major. I wonder how that could happen,” Reese said.

“Precisely,” Finch said, stretching his neck a little and rubbing at his temple. “His shift should have started about an hour ago.”

Reese picked up the book he had been reading for the past few weeks from the small desk near the couch. “Text me the address.” 

“Yes. Once I’ve pinpointed a possible location of his operation, I will let you know.” Finch was still frowning, deeper than was usual for the start of what seemed to be a simple case.

“Are you okay, Finch?”

He looked a little surprised by the question but nodded. “Yes. Just a headache. Thank you, Mr. Reese.”

Reese knew a dismissal when he heard one and left the library to go sit in a Starbucks and catch up on his reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: accidentally reading each other's minds.


	4. It Only Takes Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold decides it's time to come off of his suppressants and John starts feeling the effects.

By the second day, Harold was regretting his decision to cut off the suppressants. He hadn’t weaned himself off the way that every piece of literature on the medication said to, he’d cut himself off cold turkey. There was no time.

He’d always know that suppressants could dull his mind but there had never been much of a problem. He didn’t mean to be egotistical but he could outmaneuver almost anyone even with a quarter of his brain tied behind his back. Or so he had thought. 

Reese had been hurt because he hadn’t been able to crack an account fast enough and because he hadn’t been keeping an eye on the cameras. He was supposed to be John’s extra pair of eyes and he had failed him. 

That night after he had delivered the file on the assassin and the number’s husband who had hired her Harold had gone home and drawn himself a bath. As he soaked in the hot water he thought about his options, or even if he needed to make any changes. They had worked what felt like hundreds of numbers where Harold had been fast enough and where John hadn’t been hurt. _It only takes once_ Grace’s voice echoed from the memory of Harold being stubborn about wearing a seat belt during a long cab ride. 

But one incident did not negate the entirety of the data set that was their previous numbers. The decision seemed made for him before he even consciously came to the decision. John was too important to risk when the chances of Grace thinking that he was still alive after all this time was near zero. Even if there was a flare in the Bond Grace didn’t believe in ghosts. 

After he had dried off and changed into his pajamas Harold had moved the bottle of pills away from his other medications so that muscle memory wouldn’t take over and he’d end up taking the suppressants anyway. 

The headache started sooner than he thought it would. It was mostly just an annoyance in the morning of the first day even if Reese did notice that there was something off. But by day three Harold’s head was pounding hard. It didn’t help that Harold was trying to figure out how to smooth things over with a cartel that their number had been cutting into the business of. Why was it that people insisted on trying to cheat the cartels? Amateurs should really pick easier targets, preferably ones with fewer guns. 

Once John was holed up in the safe house it was a little easier because Harold didn't have to worry about him as much as he did when the man was dragging a cartel target all over the city to try and wrangle him into safety. 

“I’m beginning to really hate this kid,” John said under his breath. 

“What did he do now, Mr. Reese?” 

“Oh, only the same thing he’s tried four times: leave.”

“Were you able to stop him?” 

“Of course. What do you take me for? And I don’t think he’ll be quite as much trouble,” Reese added and he could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Ah. What piece of furniture did you handcuff him to this time?” Harold asked. 

“The bed frame. He was tired,” John said. 

“Did you knock him unconscious, Mr. Reese?” 

“Only a little.”

Harold allowed himself a smile and a breath before he went back to work. “I almost have a deal reached with the division head. We will, of course, need to relocate Mr. Wuster, but a small price to pay.” 

“I’m thinking rural Kansas, harder to get in trouble out there.”

“I will take that under advisement.”

* * *

By the time Finch was able to get the cartel to forget about Wuster Reese was almost ready to kill the kid himself. All he did was whine and try to escape, two of John’s least favorite things for a number to do. He delivered the kid to the train station where Finch had hidden the start of the kid’s new life in a locker with the ticket to Lincoln, Nebraska. 

John was pretty sure the kid would get off the train before the 32-hour trip ended but then again, maybe he’d been scared into compliance by the last shootout Reese had had with some cartel members who had found them before the memo on not killing them had gone out. He certainly hoped so. 

As he made his way back to the library, hoping to hear that there were no new numbers and that the three of them could enjoy a walk and some dinner together before separating for the night, John was almost knocked over by the wave of irritation that hit him. It wouldn’t have had such an effect if he had known to expect it, but it had been a long time since he’d felt an emotion that wasn’t his. 

The next thing he felt was worry but that was his own. He had Bonded with someone and it was getting stronger. Carter? He liked her but it didn’t seem likely. Fusco? He didn't like him and it didn’t seem likely. Finch? He didn’t allow himself to hope. Bonding with Finch was the best possible outcome not just because of John’s underlying attraction to him but because that meant there wasn’t a breach in their security. If he had Bonded with someone else John himself would become a security risk. He needed to find out who it was before things got out of hand. 

He got off the train at the next stop and changed to the line that would take him back to the loft. Once he was back above ground he called Finch. “Do you need anything else from me today?” 

Finch sounded a little confused. “Not that I’m aware of as of yet.”

“I’m gonna take the rest of the day off. Let me know if there’s a new number,” Reese said. 

He barely waited for Finch to answer “Of course. Have a good day, Mr. Reese,” before he hung up. At the loft, he made himself a cup of coffee and started to write down a list of anyone that he saw regularly, including the man who ran the shop he bought Finch’s pastries from. 

It wasn’t long, he led a secluded life but it gave him four other targets that weren’t Fusco, Carter, or Finch. If it was one of them, action could wait, but if it was one of the other four dangers could have been coming to Finch or to them, neither was an acceptable outcome. Once he had racked his brain for anyone else that it could be John memorized the list and then burnt the paper. 

Around ten o’clock that night he was devising a plan to determine if the woman who occasionally took the same running route as him was his new soul mate until he was stopped by another wave of emotion. It was concern that twisted in his gut and made his eyes screw shut.

It was stronger than the irritation had been, a bit more like being hit by a train instead of by car. There was no way to know if it was because the Bond had become stronger or if the emotion was that much more intense. John tried to reach out with his mind, to probe at the small part of his mind to see what else he could discern from them. The only thing he got was the sound of thoughts, muffled like they were talking in a house and John was standing on the sidewalk, just a voice, no words. 

It still sent a chill through him. John was just as vulnerable as they were and they could probably hear and feel the strongest of his emotions and thoughts. He spent the rest of the night pulling out old meditation tricks he had used in the military to protect Jessica, anything he could remember that would weaken the Bond. Maybe it was time to call Dr. Tillman after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be trying to update this a little more often. 
> 
> If you want to find my tumblr I am [ProblemWithTrouble](https://problemwithtrouble.tumblr.com)


	5. Just Feel It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts his hunt for his new soul mate and now that Finch is off the suppressants he has to accept that he has a new soul mate.

The first day of John’s hunt for his new soul mate was a bust. It was successful in the sense that he had managed to cross one of the names off of his list: Lalani Maurter was happily Bonded to her husband of seven years. John had struck up a conversation that morning after they were caught at the same crosswalk for the third time. She seemed a little irritated but he passed it off as just hitting on her and when he got his answer he made a turn at the next block so she wouldn’t feel like he was following her. It was a shame though, he had enjoyed that route and he’d have to find a new one to throw into the rotation. 

After he had showered and dressed he resumed his normal routine keeping the names and routines that had made them a problem in mind. He got coffee and donuts for Harold and tried to sense anything from the tired-looking man who ran the shop. He was another person on the list, Martin Sims, but the shop was busy and John couldn’t feel anything from him so he would have to wait. There was no way in hell John was going to hold up the line during rush hour. 

He came into the library at his normal time, carrying his normal box of pastries, and seeing Finch sitting in his normal spot. The routine of it warmed him. There was something so nice about things being sure. A therapist would probably say that the routine made him feel safe after so many years of uncertainty but John didn’t want to think about it that way. He wanted to not think about it at all and just feel it. 

Finch looked up at him as he came into the room, picking up his tea almost a second after John had set it down. “We have a new number.”

John turned to the broken glass board, an elderly man was staring back at him. He was smiling in his DMV picture but there was something familiar about him, though John was sure he’d never seen him before. “This is Jared Moneque,” Finch explained. “He is an eighty-three-year-old man who moved to Staten Island six years ago before which he lived in Milwaukee. He has no long-time friends or family on Staten Island so whatever has put him at risk most likely has something to do with his relocation.”

John drank his coffee quietly. There was something about Jared Moneque that bothered John until he pinpointed what was so familiar. There was an emptiness behind his eyes. It was easy to fake in person — people didn’t want to believe that they met many psychopaths in their everyday lives — but in pictures, it was harder to hide. The emptiness carried over, only made more obvious by the thin veneer of humanity that had been put over it. “What did he do before he retired?”

Finch looked down at the notes. “A sanitation officer. Why do you ask?”

“That man wasn’t a garbage man, Finch. Any military record?”

“None.” 

John smiled to himself. “I think we have another friend in witness protection.”

Finch frowned and sat back down at his computer. “That would explain how...organized his life seemed to be. I will dig further and see if I can find who he is being protected from. That will more than likely account for what the threat is.”

“Don’t count him out yet, Finch.” John gave a pat to Bear’s head on his way out. “I’ll see what I can find at his home.”

“I’ll send you the address.”

* * *

Once Finch had sent the address to John he attempted to find any trace of Moneque but given that his past in Milwaukee was more than likely as much as a falsehood as the man’s social security number added a complication.

He discarded the last name and instead focused his search on major cases that had a witness with the first name Jared in the midwest. They wouldn’t have left him in New York if that is where his case had been and people rarely changed their first names for aliases, he would know. 

For the first time in what felt like ages, Harold could think clearly without a headache clouding his mind. His mind didn’t seem clearer than before he had stopped taking the medication but self-evaluation was only so effective and he hoped that it had made the difference for John’s sake. 

There was only one small problem. There was another connection, emotions and the occasional thought that weren’t his and weren’t from Grace invaded his mind. The problem was that he didn’t know who it was. He was grateful it wasn’t Grace, it meant their connection was too weak to give Grace any pause and from Harold’s observations of her she hadn’t noticed anything was different. Grace and Harold would always share a part of one another’s minds but without the connection being nurtured with regular contact it would stay the small, weak, shriveled thing that it was. 

This new connection was not that though. It felt almost whole, which provided its own set of challenges. From what Finch knew it took two full weeks off of the medication completely for it to fade from someone’s system which meant that the connection would only get stronger as the medication continued to work its way out of his system and Finch did not need a stranger in his mind. He didn’t know who it could be that he would have enough contact with to form a Bond other than John, which was patently ridiculous. John was no more likely to form a Bond with Harold than he was to the donut shop owner even if Harold himself was attracted to the idea of being Bonded to John. 

Harold had found a case that may have been of interest just as John was calling in. “Yes, Mr. Reese?”

“Check Chicago. He has a Chicago accent,” John said. 

“Yes. I think I’ve located it,” Harold said as he skimmed over the court transcripts of his testimony. “There’s no picture of the witness to confirm but a man by the name of Jared Copper was a witness against several organized crime members in a RICO case five years ago. He was a former enforcer. Do try to be careful, Mr. Reese.”

“Aren’t I always?” 

Harold hoped that his unamused silence carried through the line. From the smile in John’s voice when he said “He seems to have retired to the quiet life,” Finch thought it did. 

“I’m going to check out his apartment while he’s at his gardening club.”

“Retired to the quiet life indeed.” The line went dead as Reese went back to work. Harold started to scan through the man’s criminal record and while he hadn’t been formally charged with anything in nearly four decades there were several notes about being brought in for questioning regarding disappearances or murders. Most of those cases, Finch found, were still unsolved. 

He felt a pang of worry as he thought about John going up against this man even if he was in his eighties. There were a lot of tricks that a man could learn in eighty years of organized crime that meant you didn’t have to physically fight someone to stop them. A moment later he felt a wave of soothing calm wash over him as if someone was reassuring him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to find my tumblr I am [ProblemWithTrouble](https://problemwithtrouble.tumblr.com)


End file.
